Box of Scraps (IN A CAVE!)
by Sara Wolfe
Summary: A collection of various Marvel drabbles/ficlets that don't fit anywhere else.


**Author's Note:** Inspired by a prompt on Tumblr and the overwhelming desire to see someone be kind to Bucky and take care of him, after everything that happened in the movie. No specific spoilers for Captain America: the Winter Soldier, but the warning is there just in case.

* * *

The shower has been running for so long that Steve almost doesn't register when the water shuts off.

When he realizes that the apartment is a lot quieter than it had been just a few minutes ago, he glances up toward the bathroom door. But the door remains stubbornly closed, Bucky still secluded in the small room. Steve's first instinct is to go and check on him, but he'd already promised himself earlier that he'd give Bucky as much space as he needed to heal. Ten minutes, he tells himself, and then he'd go check on the other man. Ten minutes.

He makes it two before he's up, pacing anxiously in front of the door. He doesn't want to push Bucky, doesn't want to invade his solitude, but he doesn't want to leave him alone, either. He doesn't know whether to knock or just give Bucky some more time, when Bucky takes the decision out of his hands.

"Steve," Bucky whispers, and he's so quiet that Steve's sure he wasn't intending anyone to hear him. But there's something in his voice, a helplessness that Steve has never heard coming from his best friend, before, and Steve carefully pushes the door open and steps into the steamy room.

Bucky's standing in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around his stomach while he shivers, violently. He's still wet from the shower but he hasn't made any attempt to dry himself off, towel lying discarded on the closed lid of the toilet. He doesn't move as Steve reaches around him to grab the towel, not even to meet his eyes.

Steve starts with Bucky's shoulders, rubbing the soft towel across bare skin, watching goosebumps replace the droplets of water. Bucky is silent the whole time, only speaking when Steve wraps the towel around his shoulders like a blanket.

"The water," he whispers, and Steve could kick himself, because if there's one thing he hates about his new apartment, it's that when the hot water shuts off, it goes almost glacial in a matter of seconds, and Steve should have expected this, it's happened to him often enough…

"Let's get you warmed up, then," he says, reaching for the sweats he'd handed Bucky when he showed him where the shower was.

It's an old pair, soft from repeated washing, and Steve can hear Bucky's almost imperceptible sigh as he helps him slip his arms through the sleeves, takes his weight as he steps into the pants. And then Bucky's standing barefoot, still shivering but not as bad as before.

"Better?" Steve asks, carefully, and Bucky gives him the tiniest of nods. "You want to get rid of some of that scruff?" Steve goes on, gesturing to the razor sitting on the counter by the sink.

Bucky eyes the straight-edge with something wary and almost haunted in his eyes. He's distant, and Steve wonders what he's seeing, what horrors he's reliving from HYDRA. And he's never wanted so badly to be able to hit someone, to hurt the people who put that look in Bucky's eyes.

"C-can you-" Bucky's voice cracks, falters. Steve is staggered by the trust in his eyes. "If you-"

"Yeah," Steve says, quietly, when Bucky trails off.

Bucky is still, quiet, as Steve carefully shaves months of ragged scruff away from his face. He keeps his eyes closed, tilts his face at Steve's gentle urging. When it's done, Steve rubs the pad of his thumb across Bucky's cheek, and Bucky leans into the touch.

"Hungry?" Steve asks, and Bucky cracks the first real smile Steve's seen from him since he walked though the front door.

"Starving," Bucky admits, and he trails Steve out into the living room.

He sits on the couch while Steve slaps together a couple sandwiches in the kitchen. He's motionless, but his eyes track Steve's every movement; he's afraid Steve will disappear if he looks away. Steve knows how that feels.

Bucky downs the first sandwich Steve hands him in a matter of seconds, the second just as quickly. Then he's done, and the lost look comes back in his eyes, like he doesn't know what to do with himself when he doesn't have something to focus on. Steve knows how that feels, too.

"C'mere," he says, sitting down next to Bucky on the couch.

He tugs Bucky back to lean against his chest, feeling Bucky tense up for a moment before forcing himself to relax. Steve doesn't say anything, just combs his fingers through Bucky's tangled, damp hair, working out the knots and snarls. Bucky sighs at the contact, eyes drifting shut.

"Tired," he mumbles, after a while. "Can't remember the last time I slept."

"Sleep now," Steve tells him. "I've got you, Buck. You're safe."

Bucky's asleep before Steve even finishes speaking. Steve just smiles, holds onto his best friend. He's never letting go.


End file.
